Wonder Boy
by astroanna
Summary: “I’m sorry, House...it’s just too ironic. The wonder-boy oncologist has cancer.”
1. Chapter 1

"Hey, Wilson, wanna grab lunch?" House asked, strolling into Wilson's office as usual, dressed in his favorite worn T-shirt and grey jacket. "As usual, my devotion to my patients and killer caseload has prevented me from remembering my wallet, so-"

"I'm paying?" Wilson finished sardonically, "House, I'm surprised you haven't signed up to be sponsored by one of those save-the-children foundations…on second thought," Wilson said, shrugging self-deprecatingly, "I've pretty much been sponsoring you since we became friends, and you still are a child, so I guess it-"

"Wilson," House interrupted, "the speeches are my thing, get your own…now can we go eat?"

Wilson grinned, closing his last case file and placing it on the top of his neatly stacked pile.

"Sure, let's go. Do you mind if I call Amber and ask her to join us? She's here for a lecture."

"You mean mini-me? Sure, she can come"

Wilson's eyebrows raised at the name, but he simply shook his head in defeat. Wilson still was not convinced of House's theory of his relationship with Amber as an extension of his relationship with House. On the other hand, he was too relieved that the two of them seemed to have come to terms with each other to protest.

Several minutes later, House and Wilson were seated in the cafeteria, House enjoying his roast-beef and fries, Wilson's usual salad left untouched.

"I wonder what's keeping Amber?" Wilson mused, more to himself than to House.

"Maybe she's trying to find the best way to sabotage her peers then try to take their fellowship," House said between bites.

"Mmmmmmmmmm…," Wilson said in mock thoughtfulness, "deceitful, underhanded, inconsiderate…you're right, that does sound like you," Wilson said, brown eyes alight with laughter.

"Thank you," House said, grinning now himself. "That gets me, Jimmy, right here," House said, tapping his chest.

Both men began laughing and neither seemed able to stop for some time. Suddenly, though, the laughter died from Wilson's face, and his eyes.

"House…" Wilson said quietly, as he leaned over to place his arms on the table, "I don't-"

The laughter had hardly died from House's own face when Wilson's entire body began jerking randomly and uncontrollably.

"Wilson?" House said, real alarm in his voice. Getting to his feet as fast as his cane would allow, House crossed to his best friend's side, lowering him slowly to the ground and keeping a gentle but firm grip on his head.

"Somebody get a gurney, he's seizing!"


	2. Chapter 2

James Wilson lay on the familiar hospital bed, although he had never been in it as a patient before. House watched his best friend, who was attached to the usual heart monitor and pulse oximeter but in addition was also attached to a continuous EEG via several electrodes on various parts of his head. The seizure had subsided, and Wison's EEG had returned to normal brain wave activity, but he had still not regained consciousness.

Lisa Cuddy walked quietly into Wilson's hospital room, remaining silent for several long moments. Taking in the scene before her was surreal; her head of oncology was unconscious after just having suffered a seizure and her head of diagnostics was at his bedside, seemingly lost. It was completely unexpected, and she was unsure of what to do next. It was a feeling she was unfamiliar with; one didn't become a dean of medicine, especially as a woman, without knowing how to handle adversity. Still, she did not know how to handle this one.

"How is he?" she asked quietly.

"Same," House said curtly.

Cuddy nodded. It was not unusual for a patient to remain unconscious for some time after a seizure, but it was small comfort. Pulling up a chair on the opposite side of Wilson's bed she sat down and began adjusting his blanket unnecessarily, just so that she could be doing something. Suddenly she was overcome with the weight of seeing her friend in such a vulnerable state and gripped his hand. Looking up at House, her breath almost caught; she had been so focused on Wilson she had not looked at House properly since walking into the room. As she looked at her cold, abrasive, rebellious head of diagnostics she saw something in the piercing blue eyes she had not seen since the day he had suffered his infarction; fear. It was not a typical fear; House was not susceptible to normal fear in any case. This was a fear born of the prospect of losing something; something too important to lose without irreparable damage.

"He'll be okay, House," Cuddy said softly.

"You don't know that," House said, his voice hard and seemingly straining for control.

"He's young, he's been healthy-" Cuddy began, but House cut across her.

"I know, I know!" House said, getting to his feet and crossing the room to stare out of the glass windows which allowed a full view of the hallway beyond. "He's got a strong heart, lungs, brain, I know the medical stuff as well as you do. That's the point. Someone like him, who doesn't eat anything but health food and avoids every vice imaginable doesn't just have a seizure for no reason."

"Is that your Dr. House insight talking or are you just scared for your best friend?"

House turned to look at Cuddy, blue eyes boring into her as if he could drill holes into her with his gaze. He did not answer, however, but simply sat back down and continued his vigil in silence.

A/N: Sorry these first two chapters were so short, I'm still in set-up mode here...more to come soon, though... thanks for the reviews, all!


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing Wilson was aware of was the sound of a heart monitor beeping out a steady rhythm. How strange, he thought, none of his patients were in the ICU or in the emergency room. Gradually memory came back to Wilson and as it did he realized that he was the one lying in the hospital bed and that the heart monitor was his own. Opening his eyes, Wilson looked around the room. The first thing he saw was House in the seat next to him, gazing at him silently. Several moments passed in silence before Wilson broke it.

"Who are you?" Wilson said as he locked eyes with House.

"You don't remember me?" House asked, panic beginning to snake its way through him.

Wilson's eyes were alight with mirth.

"I can't believe you fell for that," Wilson said, grinning as he sat up straighter in bed. As he adjusted his IV so that it wouldn't tangle, Wilson glanced over at House. The older man was staring at Wilson, more seriously than Wilson had ever seen him.

"House," Wilson began quietly, "I was only joking-"

"You had a grand mal seizure and you choose now to acquire a sense of humor?" House said, his voice almost a growl.

Wilson stopped in his mental tracts, looking at his friend more carefully. There was genuine concern in the keen blue eyes and Wilson could not help but simply stare. Despite himself, despite the fear building in the back of his mind about why he had had a seizure in the first place, Wilson was simply mesmerized at what he saw as he looked at Gregory House. He does care, Wilson thought, astounded. Nodding, Wilson sat back, still gazing at House.

"So, what happened?"

House looked confused.

"I just told you, you had a seizure-"

"Yeah, but why?"

House shook his head.

"We don't know, we couldn't do any of the scans until you woke up. Now that you have, next stop is lovely, picturesque MRI machine in beautiful Radiology."

"Fun," Wilson said sardonically. "Hey, where's Amber? She never showed up for lunch, did she?"

"Her lecture ran long, but I called her once you were stable. She'll be over later."

"Okay, who are you and what have you done with Greg House?"

"He's been airlifted back to the mother-ship," House said, his eyes wide in a mock alien-face.

Wilson smiled.

"Of course," Wilson said, "what kept them so long?"

"They were distracted by Cuddy's top," House said without missing a beat.

The two men, despite themselves, broke out into uncontrollable laughter for the second time that day.

A/N: Things should speed up a little after this...keep the reviews coming, I always want to know how close to the characters I'm getting...


	4. Chapter 4

House and Wilson were playing poker at Wilson's bedside, as usual. As usual House was winning, unaware of course that Wilson was letting him. Even though they were only playing for toll change, it was a matter of bragging rights. Wilson was more than willing to let House have those bragging rights, mostly because it bought him a lot of peace.

After what seemed a long time, and after many coins had changed hands, the intern who had Wilson's MRI and CT scans walked into his hospital room.

"Those the scans?" House said instantly, indicating the manila file in the newbie's hand.

"Yes, Dr. House. I was wondering if I could go over them with-"

"Let me get this straight," House said acidly, "you've been practicing medicine for about ten minutes and you want to 'go over' test results with the head of diagnostics and head of oncology who are sitting in front of you? Give me the scans already," he finished, holding out his hand impatiently.

"It's all right," Wilson said reassuringly to the now frightened young doctor, "you can just leave the scans with us."

Nodding nervously, the intern handed over the scans and turned on his heel, leaving as fast as his legs would carry him.

"You didn't have to scare the crap out of him, House," Wilson said, although he seemed amused nonetheless.

"I'm developing a new treatment for the rare but deadly disease I've discovered; idiot doctor syndrome," House replied as he removed the scans from the folder.

Attaching the scans to the light board next to Wilson's bed, House flicked on the light as Wilson turned on his side to get a better look. As the seconds passed, House's eyes flicked over the scans, his unique brain working furiously to explain what was in front of him even though he knew, deep down, that there was no mystery to explain.

Greg House loved the puzzle, he needed the mystery, and he especially needed to see the puzzle now because if there was a riddle, it could be solved. If there was a puzzle, he could figure things out, fix it, put the broken pieces back together. His best friend was ill, and he had to know why so that he could help to make him all right again. He simply did not know how to handle the alternative. As he stood there, hesitating, House heard the last sound he would have expected to hear at that moment; laughter. It was Wilson's laughter, but there was no mirth in it, only bitterness.

House turned to his best friend, wondering at his reaction.

"What the hell are you laughing at?" House asked.

"I'm sorry, House," the younger man said, his voice holding a very Wilson-like spirit, despite the situation, "it's just too ironic. The wonder-boy oncologist has cancer."

A/N: OK, I've spent a few days with this chapter because, clearly, it's an important one, so please review, because I'm considering re-writing it and I'd love some second (and third, and fourth) opinions...later, all!


	5. Chapter 5

House felt like he had been punched in the gut. Instantly, however, he recovered his usual manner and turned to look at the light board once more.

"Please, of course you're going to see cancer. This could be an abscess, or even scar tissue-"

Wilson's eyebrows raised.

"And you, Dr. Infectious Diseases, aren't going to be predisposed to see infection? My temperature is normal, so is my white count."

"Still, we should do more complete blood work and see-"

"House," Wilson cut him off, a trace of irritation in his voice now, "this is my specialty. Whatever else happens in our twisted version of a friendship, I always thought you trusted my judgment when it comes to what I do."

House stared at his friend, feeling blindsided once again. In the familiar brown eyes he could see the reflection of his own fear, but also saw the strength that few knew existed in the tame, calm, presence of James Wilson.

"You're the first person I call when I even suspect a patient has cancer. You think I do that because I don't trust your judgment?"

Wilson nodded, keeping his eyes on House's.

"Then you know what the next step is."

House closed his eyes for a moment, trying to avoid the inevitable truth he knew was coming.

"House," Wilson said, bringing House back to the present, "set up the biopsy."

House nodded jerkily, avoiding his friend's eyes. Turning towards the door, he made to open it.

"I'll find Foreman and ask-"

"Foreman's good," Wilson said, his voice now straining for composure, "Very good. I respect him, I trust him, I want him there. But I want you to do the biopsy."

House turned on his heel, looking into the brown eyes once more. Before House could say anything, however, Wilson continued.

"Don't you dare refuse, House. You can go, rant to Cuddy, torture your team, whatever you have to do. But don't come back here until you're ready to do this."

House stared at his best friend for several more moments. There was nothing on his face but determination. Without even being aware of the motion House opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. He stood there, leaning against the wall for what seemed an eternity.

Cuddy found House, still leaning against the wall just outside Wilson's room. She could see that something had happened, but wasn't sure House would want to talk. Still, she knew she had to do something.

Gently taking his arm, Cuddy led him to the waiting area that was directly adjacent to the hallway. House hardly seemed aware of her, or the fact that he was moving. Finally, however, they were both seated, House leaning his head on the top of his cane. Several more moments passed before Cuddy finally spoke.

"House," Cuddy said, trying to meet his eyes, "what happened?"

"Wilson, um-" House began, his voice hoarse, "thinks he may have cancer."

Saying the words made the entire situation real in a way House didn't expect. Turning to Cuddy, he was unsurprised at the shock on her face.

"He's an oncologist," House began, falling into his defensive manner yet again, "he's going to see cancer everywhere."

"House," Cuddy said, her voice taking on the clipped tone of the Dean of Medicine, "do you think I made Wilson head of Oncology because he's a fatalist or overdramatic?"

House did not answer.

"Wilson is good at what he does, House, you know that. If he thinks-"

"I can't do it!" House said, rising to his feet and beginning to pace. Cuddy watched as House reached into his pocket for his Vicodin. He threw several of the pills into his mouth and continued pacing, as if he simply didn't know in which direction to go.

"He-" House began, pointing at Wilson's room, "he wants me to do his biopsy."

Cuddy nodded, her face conveying her empathy, but it seemed lost on the older man.

"I just-" he said, taking a deep breath, "I have to convince him to let Foreman do it."

"Why?" Cuddy said, her voice challenging.

"Foreman's a neurologist, he can handle-"

"But he wants you. Why wouldn't you do this when you know it must be important to him?"

"He's just scared-"

"You're damn right he's scared. Right now he's a potential cancer patient who doesn't know what's going to happen to him. What he wants-what he needs-is for the people he trusts to be around him so that he knows he has the complete medical story."

"He just finished telling me how much he trusts Foreman-"

"What he also needs," Cuddy went on, "is for the people he loves to be around him, so that he knows he doesn't have to do this thing alone."

House fell back into the seat beside Cuddy, seemingly defeated. His shoulders hunched as if they suddenly bore a great weight.

"Damn it," he said softly, "why the hell am I the one Wilson loves?"

"Beats me," Cuddy said, standing and making her way to Wilson's room.

A/N: OK, another chapter I've kind of struggled over, so please review because as I said, I may be re-writing some of this story...


	6. Chapter 6

Cuddy walked quietly into Wilson's room, giving him the best encouraging smile she could muster. Wilson was sitting up, flipping absently through the latest issue of JAMA.

"Hi," he said when Cuddy had taken the seat next to his bed.

"I um, heard that you got some news about the seizure you had."

"Word travels fast," Wilson said, "this is a pretty small house," he said, emphasizing the last word pointedly.

Cuddy smiled, but sobered quickly.

"I found him standing outside. I'm sorry if this is something you wanted kept private-"

Wilson shook his head, placing his hand on Cuddy's.

"It's okay, really. I don't exactly want it broadcast, but I don't mind you knowing. You would have to know eventually."

Cuddy nodded, impressed at the strength she saw in the man in front of her.

"Don't worry about your patients," she said, "I'll see that they get referred for the time being."

"No," Wilson, said forcefully, "I don't even know exactly what I'm dealing with here, I'd rather not put everything on hold-"

"Hey," Cuddy said, cutting across him, "I'm still Dean of Medicine at this hospital and your boss. I'm telling you that you're on temporary leave until further notice."

Wilson looked at Cuddy, seeing the steely determination on her face that told him it would be no good to argue. Crossing his arms and putting on his best pout, Wilson sighed dramatically.

"I can't believe I'm grounded," he said, glancing at Cuddy once more, "you're a mean mom, you know that?"

"Get used to it," Cuddy said, smiling once more. Leaning back in the hard plastic chair Cuddy stretched, taking in the room in its entirety. Even this nondescript hospital room seemed to have Wilson's stamp on it already. The few items on the bedside table were just a little neater, the magazines and letters stacked perfectly. It was Wilson's attention to detail that made him such a good doctor, and what made Cuddy realize that he would be an excellent head of oncology. He had never let her down. It comforted her somewhat to know that what he was facing hadn't changed him.

As Cuddy's eyes found Wilson's form once more, the smile on her face slowly faded. Wilson's eyes were unfocused, staring at nothing in particular. There was a hardness to his face, a closed-off expression she was not used to seeing in her talented young department head.

"James?" she said quietly.

The sound of his name seemed to bring Wilson out of his reverie. As his eyes found Cuddy's, she could see the fear building in the warm brown eyes.

"I'm scared, Lisa," he said, smiling through the brutal honesty he was entrusting to the woman in front of him. "How ridiculous is that? I'm an oncologist who's afraid of cancer."

"You're not afraid of cancer," Cuddy said, her voice as reassuring as she could make it, "you're afraid of having cancer. I think you'd be foolish if you weren't scared."

Wilson said nothing.

"How many patients have you seen in your career, James? And how many of them weren't scared when you told them they had cancer?"

"But I'm not just an ordinary patient, I'm a doctor. A doctor who specializes in cancer for God's sake."

"So? Do you think that makes you so different from anyone else facing what you're facing?"

"It should," Wilson said, running his hands over his eyes and through his hair in exasperation.

"You've been spending too much time with House," Cuddy said sardonically.

Wilson smiled.

"Tell me about it," he said.

"Did you really ask him to do your biopsy?" Cuddy asked, now curious.

Wilson looked at Cuddy, nodding.

"Why?"

"Is he freaking out?" Wilson asked in return, eyebrows raising.

Cuddy nodded.

"Right on schedule," Wilson said, more to himself than to Cuddy.

"What do you mean?" Cuddy asked.

"House is uncomfortable with this whole thing already, and me asking him to do my biopsy is making him face something he doesn't want to."

"Which would be?"

"He's a doctor, he's seen death touch countless lives and families. But he's not close enough to anyone for it to really affect him. Except me."

"So why did you ask him?"

Wilson shook his head.

"I didn't ask him. I told him. I demanded it."

"Why?" Cuddy asked again.

Wilson locked eyes with Cuddy.

"Because I can't imagine trusting myself, my life, to anyone but my best friend. I owe that to him."

"I don't know if he sees it that way," Cuddy said, remembering her conversation with House earlier.

"He's just scared," Wilson said.

Cuddy stared at Wilson, stopped in her tracts.

"He said the exact same thing about you," she said.

Wilson nodded, shrugging.

"He knows me," Wilson said simply.

A/N: OK, before anyone asks, JAMA is the Journal of the American Medical Association. BTW, thanks for all the encouragment and thanks for reading, all...please review! Later, everybody!


	7. Chapter 7

House strode into Wilson's room purposefully, without knocking of course, and Foreman was right behind him.

"So, what's the plan?" Wilson said without preamble.

"Well, I've taken a look at your MRI," Foreman said, "and I think the biopsy should be pretty routine. I'll start by-"

"Wait a minute," Wilson said, looking between the two men, "you didn't tell him?" Wilson said, looking at House.

"Tell me what?" Foreman said.

"The chicken came first," House said sarcastically, "would you go on, Foreman?"

Wilson broke in before Foreman could continue.

"Look Foreman, I need a good neurologist on my side, and that's you," he said, looking at the younger man, "but I told House I wanted him to do my biopsy. It's nothing to do with you, I just-"

"Hey," Foreman said, smiling reassuringly, "there's no need to explain, this is your call." Looking once more between the two other men, Foreman left the file he was carrying on Wilson's bedside. "We can talk later," he said to Wilson, nodding, then turned on his heel to leave.

"Thanks, Foreman," Wilson said quietly.

"Damn it, House, what was that all about?" Wilson said as soon as Foreman had closed the door.

"Look, I'm the last one who wants to admit this," House said, now rounding on Wilson, "but Foreman is the one who should be doing this."

"Why?"

"Because he's better, okay? The brain is what he does-"

"Cut the crap," Wilson said vehemently, looking into House's eyes. "You would never admit that anyone is better than you unless-"

"Unless what?" House said shortly, "unless I was desperate? Scared? Would hearing that convince you to stop being so stubborn and make the right medical choice? Consider it said."

"You really think I'm not making the right medical choice?" Wilson replied, his voice softening, "I'm choosing to have one of the best doctors in the country take care of me. Tell me how that's a mistake."

"Because he's not the best neurologist," House said, his blue eyes flashing.

"He's the best doctor I know," Wilson said simply, "and bottom line is I trust him more than anyone else."

House shook his head, now bewildered.

"Haven't you learned how dangerous that is by now?" House said, his voice rising.

"Damn it, House," Wilson said, his voice weary now, "I'm the one who's supposed to be scared here," Wilson said, throwing an extra pillow across the room in frustration.

"What is that supposed to mean?" House said.

"The only reason you're refusing to do this is that you're afraid you'll screw up. That would never stop you with another patient."

House said nothing, but merely stared. Wilson could so easily lay bare all of deepest fears, and it was always unnerving.

"If the biopsy is screwed up who knows what kind of damage there'll be to your brain? That doesn't scare you?" House said.

"Of course it does," Wilson said, the brown eyes making plain the fear they were discussing, "that's why I want it to be you."

In that moment, House understood. As he looked into the brown eyes of his best friend he knew that Wilson was just as frightened as he was, and just as unwilling to show it. Wilson had said the words that made plain that he was afraid, but House knew that there was so much more he wasn't saying. James Wilson, who was always telling House to try to understand his own feelings, was now suppressing his own. At first House couldn't understand why, but now he had a sneaking suspicion he knew what his friend was thinking.

House knew, deep down, that his friendship with Wilson had affected him and influenced him for the better. He had never suspected that he had influenced Wilson, until now. Wilson was all about the heart, the humanity, he always had been. He was sublimating all of that to make this easier for House. Wilson was doing his damnedest to let his head take the lead; the least House could do was return the favor and do what his heart was telling him.

"You're scared, so you want it to be me," House said thoughtfully.

Wilson nodded, giving House a "yeah, I guess," kind of look. House scoffed.

"You must have had a real short applicant list," he said, "but I'll take the job anyway."


	8. Chapter 8

House walked into the sterile procedure room, gowned and gloved, as he had done countless times before. This time, though, was so different. This time it was his best friend who was prepped for the procedure which, House could not forget, could cause permanent damage to his brain.

It's not going to happen, House thought to himself, I won't let it. Looking around the room, he assessed the equipment and readiness of the staff in a few short moments. Locking eyes with Foreman for a moment, he saw the younger man give him a single encouraging nod. As if that was the cue he had been waiting for, House finally broke the silence.

"Are we ready?" he said simply to the entire room at large.

With several answering nods and affirmative responses, House nodded himself. His eyes happened to catch the observation gallery above him. Chase, Cameron, and Amber were all watching silently, their eyes seeming to reflect the gravity of the situation. Needing somehow to break the tension, he threw them the "rock on" symbol and was gratified to see the small smiles on their faces.

Looking back, House could barely remember the procedure itself, his mind somehow detaching itself from the work he was doing. It was the only way he could get through it, remaining coldly professional, remaining the composed and imperturbable Dr. House.

After leaving the procedure room House returned to his office. He simply sat there, throwing his ball against the window with his cane as usual. After several minutes he slowly stopped, the weight of what his friend was facing closing in on him. It seemed to crash over him even more intensely after his stoic efforts to keep it at bay. Making his way to the bathroom directly adjoining his office he locked the door, sinking to the hard floor. Sitting there alone, for the first time in years, Gregory House allowed himself to weep. He was determined that no one should find him in his moment of weakness, but at that moment he could think of nothing else to do but succumb to that weakness.

After a while, House didn't know exactly how long until he checked his office clock, he made his way back through the hallway of the hospital. Wilson would not be awake for several more hours and House did not want to visit him with the day's worth of sleeplessness now clinging to him. Numbly he made his way back to 221B Baker Street. Once he had changed and showered he was back at the hospital, waiting in Wilson's recovery room. There he fell asleep in the hard chair next to his best friend, his cane by his side, the sunlight slowly fading as it was swallowed by nightfall.

A/N: OK, please review because I'd love some feedback... :)


	9. Chapter 9

Once again, Wilson's eyes slowly opened and once again, the first face he saw was House's. This time, though, the older man was asleep. A wave of appreciation for his best friend overtook Wilson. He must have been exhausted, Wilson thought, to allow himself to actually fall asleep. Stretching his now cramped muscles, Wilson wondered what would happen to him next. Up until now he could hide, somehow, behind the bliss of ignorance. That bliss would soon be shattered, and Wilson would have to brace himself, the way he told all of his patients to. It was much more difficult from this side of the doctor-patient relationship.

When Wilson glanced back over at House the older man had begun to stir. Instantly his eyes found Wilson's and saw that they were open. Getting to his feet as fast as he could, House picked up the pen light next to him and checked Wilson's pupils.

"Follow my finger," House said, moving his index finger in a line across Wilson's field of vision. Dutifully Wilson complied, knowing that House could not relax until he knew that the biopsy had been conducted successfully.

"Do you know where you are?" House asked him, his voice still strained.

"Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital, my name is James Wilson, and it's February 20th, 2008," Wilson said, saving House the trouble of asking him to prove orientation to person, place, and time.

House simply nodded, but Wilson could almost see the tension ease from his friend as he sat back down. Smiling, Wilson simply could not help himself. Putting on his best imitation of the Scarecrow, Wilson broke the heavy silence.

"I could while away the hours, conferrin' with the flowers, consultin' with the rain, and my head, I'd be scratchin' while my thoughts were busy hatchin' if I only had a brain."

House shook his head, but could not help but grin.

"You and I need a weekend in Vegas, stat," House said.

"So I can end up finding you with an unnamed hooker in another state? No thank you," Wilson said, smiling now himself. Suddenly a wealth of history, both regrets and redemption, seemed to flow between the two men silently.

"You did fine, House," Wilson said quietly, "I'm fine."

"Yeah," House said, his eyes still downcast.

Before anything more could be said, the door opened and what seemed to be a flood of people came in. Foreman, Chase, Cameron, Amber, and Cuddy all filed in, each of them slowly smiling as they saw the now conscious and alert Wilson.

Amber came next to Wilson's bed, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. As she made to pull away, Wilson reached out to take her face in his hands, deepening the kiss. The two pulled apart, and Wilson moved sideways on his bed so that Amber could slip in beside him.

"How are you feeling?" she asked quietly.

"Expected headache, but I feel fine," Wilson assured her glancing around the room to address everyone around him.

"He passed the neuro exam just fine," House said, "but he's as big a dork as ever," he said sarcastically.

"We just wanted to make sure you were okay," Foreman said, now glancing at Wilson's chart. After a few moments, he nodded. "Everything looks good. As soon as the results are in we'll let you know."

"Thanks, Foreman. For everything."

"Oh, no," House said, "now you've done it Foreman. You've gained his respect. Now you'll never be rid of him."

"Glad you're all right, Wilson," Chase said, his blue eyes steady on the other man.

"Thanks, Chase."

"Come back to work soon, James," Cuddy said, but her voice was teasing, "the oncology department will fall apart without you."

"I'm sure," Wilson said sardonically.

Wilson turned to look at the only person in the room who had not yet spoken. Cameron was simply standing beside Chase. Looking into her eyes Wilson noticed the tears in them that no one else in the room had noticed.

"All right," Wilson said with finality, "you came, you saw, you love, now don't you all have, you know, sick people and stuff?"

They all knew it was a dismissal, but no one felt slighted. It was simply Wilson's way; he was the most compassionate person and doctor one could ever ask for, but was not one to draw out difficult moments unnecessarily.

Wilson gave Amber one last kiss before she slid off the bed.

"I'll come back again later, James," she said softly, "get your rest."

Wilson simply smiled at her, keeping their fingers locked for as long as possible before she left. Everyone in the room, then, except House began filing out of the room, waving goodbye to Wilson.

"Dr. Cameron," Wilson said quietly, "can I just talk to you for a quick second?"

Cameron simply stood there. House still had not left his seat beside Wilson. Wilson glanced at House, eyebrows raised.

"I don't have any sick people," House said, leaning back. He was waiting to see why Wilson had called Cameron back because Wilson was always very purposeful with his conversations.

"Dr. Cameron," Wilson began, seeming to accept that House wouldn't leave, "why did you come here?" Wilson's voice was not accusing, but merely that of a teacher prompting an answer.

Cameron looked confused, and seemed hurt by the question.

"I wanted to show my support," she said, her voice almost breaking.

"I appreciate that" Wilson said quietly, "but here's the thing. I want you to remember what I told you before."

"What?" Cameron said, still struggling to keep her composure.

"It's not worth it," Wilson said, brown eyes now fixed on Cameron's. House looked between the two of them, unsure of the sudden understanding passing between them.

"I know what you went through with your husband," Wilson said, "and it's made you one of the few doctors I know who really cares about her patients. This is different. I'm an oncologist, I know what I'm in for medically. I have a support system and, despite popular opinion, am made of stronger stuff than some people think," Wilson said, glancing at House. "If you throw yourself into 'being there' for me, that's another piece of yourself you'll lose, and I will not be the reason for that."

Cameron simply stared, seemingly still confused.

"Listen to me, Allison," Wilson said, hoping her first name would get her attention, "this is what I want. I want you to go, be the kick ass doctor I know House has made you, build whatever relationship with Chase will make you happy and live your life. Me? I'll get through this, one way or the other."

Cameron still seemed shell-shocked, but simply nodded. Slowly she left, seeming to still be processing everything she had just heard.

"What was that?" House said, surprised.

"What?" Wilson said, turning to face the older man.

"The fluffy bunny doesn't cut down the other fluffy bunny. It just doesn't happen."

Wilson's eyebrows raised.

"Do you honestly think a fluffy bunny could have been your friend for as long as I have?" Wilson said.

House smiled, seeing the core of strength in Wilson that was the reason he trusted him and respected him. House counted on that strength, even if he didn't always realize it.

A/N: The next part of this story is giving me trouble, so please review... :)


	10. Chapter 10

House, having carefully accrued owed favors over the years, spent the next day keeping an eye on the lab, albeit from a distance. He felt helpless simply sitting in his office, but there was nothing else for him to do but be comforted by the fact that he would know whatever there was to know immediately. Truth be told, however, it was no comfort at all. The anticipation was driving him mad, and he was developing a new respect for what Wilson did.

Somehow he made this whole thing easier for people, the waiting and uncertainty. House never really understood it, though. On an intellectual level he could, of course, but there was something Wilson had that House could never quite grasp. Every so often he would look in at Wilson with a patient and the patient would be sobbing and devastated. Wilson would simply place his hand on theirs or sometimes just sit next to them. He would wait with infinite patience for the conversation to continue, and there was always the same look in his eyes. House recognized it because he had been on the receiving end of that look more times than he could remember; it was compassion. Wilson had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of it, and House…House did not. He knew, deep down, that he was not what Wilson would need. His own words seemed to float out of the ether of his memory, taunting him.

"_Did it ever occur to you that if you need that kind of friend, you may have made some deeper errors?"_

A knock on his office door brought House out of his reverie. Motioning the lab tech inside, the young woman swiftly made her way to House's desk, placing a manila file on his desk. Dimly, House heard himself acknowledge her and then he was once again alone. The closed file seemed to be waiting, daring him to open it. Only half aware of the movement House flipped open the file with his right hand. Two words seemed to draw his eyes instantly, boring into his mind relentlessly.

_Malignant glioblastoma._

Though his mind seemed to have stalled, House forced himself to read the rest of the report. Then he stood up, grabbed his cane and made his way out of his office. Intending to simply stand outside for a while, House's legs kept moving, carrying him across the parking lot and to his car. Before he knew it he was back at 221B Baker Street. It was a long time before House, surrounded by more than his usual Vicodin and scotch, simply passed out.

A/N: I was going for a certain shock value with the ending of this...not sure how well I succeeded, but there you go...


	11. Chapter 11

There were certain advantages to being Dean of Medicine, one of which was that if you wanted to know something right away, it was pretty much a given. Of course that was a double-edged sword, which Lisa Cuddy was never more aware of than when James Wilson's lab results came across her desk. As she read over the report her heart sank; this would take all of her resolve, and maybe more than she had. She quickly regained her composure, however, and made her way swiftly to Wilson's room. She wanted to be sure that he at least found out this news from a friend.

As she walked into Wilson's room everything seemed ordinary enough, and she tried to keep her expression as neutral and professional as possible.

"Hi, James," she said, taking the empty seat next to Wilson's bedside.

Wilson looked at Cuddy for several long moments, the brown eyes seeming to dissect her.

"I know that look," Wilson said finally, his voice laced with suspicion, "that's the Dr. Cuddy look. Spill, Lisa. Now."

Cuddy nodded.

"Okay. We just got the results of the biopsy and it's, um…" Cuddy's voice faltered at that point, and Wilson took charge.

"Lisa, it's okay. Just let me see," he said, holding out his hand for the file.

Slowly, Cuddy handed over the results, watching Wilson carefully. Wilson's eyes scanned the report, seeming to take everything in with the meticulous oncologist's care. Gradually, though, his face seemed to harden, taking on that closed-off expression once again. Cuddy broke the heavy silence, the tension seeming to hang in the air.

"This is going to be okay, James. It's in the curative stage, and that's-"

"I know, I know, Lisa. I know the regimens, I know what I'm in for. Several rounds of lovely, powerful, chemo followed by even more pleasant radiation. It'll be a blast-"

"James-"

"Oh, no wait," Wilson went on, snapping his fingers as if he had forgotten something, "it's going to be weeks of pure hell, I clean forgot." Wilson shook his head, seemingly overwhelmed. "I know you're just trying to help," he went on quietly, "but I just can't deal with the pep talk right now."

"I understand," Cuddy said, leaning back and simply watching Wilson for several moments. Finally the silence was broken once more.

"Where's House?" Wilson asked.

"I haven't seen him since earlier today," Cuddy said, wondering where the older man was now herself, "he was supposed to touch base with me earlier, but-"

"He found out," Wilson said, the brown eyes now unfocused, staring into space.

"What?" Cuddy said, now confused.

"You know House," Wilson said, now looking Cuddy in the eye, "if you just got my test results, how long do you think House has known?"

Cuddy stopped in her mental tracts, wondering if Wilson was right.

"Lisa, would you call him at home? There's something wrong, I know it."

Cuddy stared at Wilson, stunned. After learning news that could change his life, Wilson was still worried about his friend.

"James, I'm sure he's fine-" Cuddy began, but Wilson cut her off.

"Lisa please," Wilson said, holding up a hand to stop her protests, "don't patronize me and don't try to protect me. Please just find out where House is."

Nodding numbly, Cuddy nodded, making her way to the door. Taking one last look at Wilson and that closed-off expression Cuddy made her way out of his room. Taking aside a nurse who was standing outside Wilson's door, she put on her Dean of Medicine voice once more.

"I want you to check on James Wilson in ten minutes. Take his vitals, check his I.V., I don't care, just don't leave him alone."

"Certainly, doctor," the nurse replied, her manner professional and competent.

Satisfied, Cuddy nodded to the nurse and made her way back to her office. She had a certain diagnostician to find, and if he wasn't in trouble already he was about to be.

A/N: I feel like this story is going really slowly, but ideas for new scenes keep coming into my brain, so I hope you all will bear with me for now... :)


	12. Chapter 12

"House?" Cuddy called through the closed door of 221B Baker Street. Knocking with as much force as she could without hurting her hand, Cuddy called out House's name again.

"House? Damn it you better open this door!"

After several long seconds, Cuddy could hear the door latch slide open and finally House's familiar figure appeared. He looked absolutely terrible. His gaze was less focused than normal, his face paler, and the smell of alcohol still lingered around him.

Cuddy simply shook her head in disgust, her voice cold and hard.

"You did hear about Wilson, didn't you?"

House simply tried to close the door once again, but Cuddy used all her weight to push her way into the apartment.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Cuddy said, rounding on House. "Your best friend's life is about to change. He needs you now more than ever and you're sitting here drowning in scotch and Vicodin?"

House said nothing, but sank into his couch. Cuddy walked over to stand in front of him, her eyes boring into him. House was staring at the ground, avoiding Cuddy's gaze.

"Are you going to answer me?" Cuddy said acidly.

"What exactly am I supposed to say?" House said, his voice hoarse but clear. "I can't figure out what's wrong with him, there's nothing to figure out. I can't do him any good."

"Is that what you think? That he needs your diagnosis?" Cuddy said incredulously, "that's the worst cop-out you've ever used. You know perfectly well he doesn't need you around for your medical expertise; he's the oncologist for God's sake! He needs you because you're his best friend," Cuddy scoffed. "Heaven knows why that is-"

"You're right", House said fiercely, standing up, "I don't know why he's friends with me and I don't know how to 'be there' for him. He's got you for that, hell he's even got Amber. He doesn't need me, not for this."

"You're wrong, House," Cuddy said flatly, "I know you think you're never wrong, but this time, you've hit the mother-load."

"Don't you think I would know better?" House said, now looking down at Cuddy from his greater height.

"Not this time," Cuddy said, shaking her head, "because clearly you're completely blind when it comes to your own friendship. I've seen how Wilson has been there for you over the years, how much he cares-"

"I'm. Not. Wilson." House said, "which has kind of been my point, so why don't you leave?"

"Fine," Cuddy said, "but you're coming with me."

"Is this a threat? Because I tend to pretty much ignore those," House said sardonically.

"I'll make this simple. You come with me now, or you don't see Wilson while he's a patient in my hospital."

"What?"

"Once he's an outpatient I can't stop you or him from doing whatever you want, but if you want to see him while he's still admitted, you do it right now. Otherwise I tell security that you're not to come within fifty feet of his room. Wilson is my friend, and if you're not going to help him when he needs it then he's better off with people who will. I'll tell you this, though. He is not going to be happy when he finds out what you're doing here."

House looked at Cuddy questioningly.

Cuddy looked around, her arms extending to encompass the apartment.

"Your little pity party for one?"

"Why would you bother telling him?" House said.

"Because he sent me to find out what happened to you," Cuddy said.

"What happened to me?" House asked, seemingly still confused.

"Yeah. I told him what the test results said and when no one had heard from you in a while he seemed to know something was wrong."

House stared at Cuddy. Wilson had seemed to know something was wrong. That was the story of their friendship, wasn't it? House got himself into trouble, Wilson helped him out of it. Wilson gave, House took; that was how it always had been. This time, though, it was Wilson who was in trouble. Wilson truly needed him now, and House had never felt as powerless as he did now.

How in the hell am I supposed to help him? House thought to himself. He didn't know the answer, but he knew he had to at least try.

Making his way to the door, House opened it. Turning to Cuddy, he gestured impatiently to her.

"Well, are you coming or what?"

A/N: OK, so based on this story you can all probably tell I love the character of Wilson... : ) Well, I also really love the actor who plays him, Robert Sean Leonard. I just got around to seeing a film he did years ago, Dead Poets Society. If anyone hasn't seen this, rent it, it is amazing! Anyway, it really got my creative juices flowing and inspired scenes which will be further down the line. Anyway, later all, hope you enjoy!


	13. Chapter 13

Wilson was reading one of the many novels he had little time for normally. Partly it was because he now had unexpected time on his hands and little to fill it, but partly it was because he had to keep his mind focused on something else besides what was happening to him. In truth, he had not truly absorbed the terrible reality of his situation.

The sound of his door opening brought Wilson out of his book and back to reality. House walked into the room, unusually quietly, and his eyes found Wilson's. Tossing his book onto his bedside table forcefully, the bitterness flooding Wilson found its way into his voice.

"Glad you could make it," he said acidly.

Slowly House made his way to seat himself beside Wilson, but did not say anything.

"I assume you heard," Wilson went on, looking at his friend questioningly.

House nodded, trying to avoid his friend's eyes, but gradually the piercing blue found the deep brown. Those normally warm eyes, House noticed, were harder now, shadowed by some unreadable emotion.

"Are you going to say anything, because this is a good book and I'd just as soon get back to it," Wilson said, irritation plain in his voice.

"I-" House began, avoiding Wilson's eyes again, "I'm sorry." The words were spoken so softly Wilson hardly heard him. He did, however, hear the words but could hardly believe it.

"I must be hallucinating, did you just apologize to me?" Wilson said.

"Look for once I'm trying to be serious would you please let me?" House said, his usual petulant manner evident once again. Wilson, however, simply nodded.

Pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts, House spoke quietly but firmly.

"I made sure the lab let me know right away once your test results came back. I must have read thousands of lab reports since I became a doctor but none of them were like this one."

"You've seen cancer diagnoses before," Wilson said.

"This was different," House said, his voice rising.

"Why?" Wilson said, his voice challenging.

"You know why," House said, now looking back at Wilson once more.

"Hey, you wanted to talk, so talk," Wilson said, opening his hands as if to invite the conversation.

"It was different because it was you, damn it," House said, now rising in agitation.

Wilson said nothing, but watched his friend's back silently. This was a turning point for House, Wilson knew, and it would be a huge mistake to interrupt it now. House continued, staring at the wall opposite him.

"I'd never seen your name on one of those damn blue lab slips before and I never expected to see a cancer diagnosis next to it." House paused, looking up at the ceiling for a moment.

"It scared the crap out of me," he said softly.

"I think I know the feeling," Wilson said quietly.

"So I went home," House said simply. When he did not continue, Wilson spoke into the silence.

"And celebrated with your friends hydrocodone and Jack Daniels, no doubt."

House said nothing, but there was no need, both men knew the truth of Wilson's words.

"Look I, um, want to ask you something," Wilson said.

"Okay," House said, turning back and seating himself next to Wilson once again.

Wilson found his friend's eyes before he spoke; there was no room for evasion now.

"Can I count on you?"

House looked at Wilson, seemingly confused.

"What?"

"I know you're scared, and believe it or not, I know you care. It means a lot that you let me know that, after a fashion," he said, his lips curling into an ironic smile for a moment. Quickly he sobered, however.

"But House, this is happening to me. This is big, and it's bad, and I have to deal with it somehow. I can't worry that you're going to fall apart or OD again and have any fight left. So if you want to be in this, I need to know you can really be in it. If you can't, then I need to do this thing on my own."

House looked at his best friend for several long moments. House had not known what Wilson's reaction would be but he had not expected this. He was giving House a choice even if it meant losing support when he needed it most. Once again, he was looking out for House's best interests. Finally, completely, House made his decision.

"I'm in," he said, nodding.

"Good," Wilson said, nodding back, still looking into the blue eyes. As usual, they were looking at Wilson with the focus that made him so renowned as a doctor, but which Wilson knew could also uncover everything about him, no matter how much he might want it kept secret.

The familiarity of those eyes seemed to chip at the defenses Wilson had built within his mind. The weight of everything Wilson had learned, of what was before him, of his own mortality seemed to press upon him suddenly. Tears stung his eyes, and Wilson fought to keep them at bay, and now he was avoiding House's gaze. House was not exactly capable with the tears of others.

"Would you mind grabbing me some real, you know, non-hospital coffee?" Wilson asked, hoping that he could get at least a few minutes alone.

"What?" House said incredulously, "we're having the talk and you want me to make a Starbuck's run?" House had not noticed the change in Wilson yet.

"Damn it," Wilson said, his voice finally breaking, the tears finally falling.

House was caught completely off-guard. It seemed as if Wilson had been dealing with his situation with his usual strength and good humor. In actuality he had not been dealing with it at all and House was witnessing the aftermath. House watched as Wilson's face fell forward and he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking slightly with his sobs.

House said nothing, but placed his hand on Wilson's shoulder. It was true that House was generally ill-equipped to deal with difficult emotion, but he was also extremely loyal to those he counted as true friends. It allowed him to access the compassion he had, but which he would normally ignore.

For several long minutes the two men sat, House allowing Wilson to vent the pain he had not allowed himself to until now. Finally Wilson spoke, wiping the last stray tears from his eyes.

"I'm sorry-" Wilson began, but House cut him off.

"Don't," House said vehemently, "don't do that. You don't have to be Super Doc right now. Damn, have you even let yourself deal with this thing before now?"

"Probably not," Wilson said, shaking his head and taking a steadying breath. "I…I'm scared, House. I've never been so scared before. I feel like there's this timetable to my life now. Like I should start counting down the months I have left."

"It's way too early for that, and you know it."

"I know, I mean the oncologist in me knows, but the other part can't stop thinking about all the things I haven't done yet. I've just started seeing Amber and-" Wilson trailed off, but he looked into House's eyes.

"House…I'm not even forty yet. I'm not ready-"

"I don't want to hear you say it," House said, his own fear now making its way into his voice. "You are going to fight this and you will come though it just fine."

Wilson smiled weakly.

"Maybe you're right, but you know as well as I do that that's an if. A huge if."

"Not if I have anything to do with it," House said with a bravado that he did not really feel.

"I forgot," Wilson said sardonically, "House the Almighty. Bad things happen, you've seen it over and over, so have I. We've seen kids lose parents, husbands lose wives, and it's never fair. What makes me so special?"

House said nothing. Wilson was never one to run from reality, and the truth was House couldn't deny what Wilson had said. It made the comforting friend role much more difficult, however, when the friend to be comforted was as wise as Wilson.

"You're right," House said finally, "people die, and sometimes despite everything we do. All I know is that you will fight this thing."

Wilson sighed.

"Yeah." Wilson said quietly.

"And," House said, "I also know that I'll help however I can."

Wilson looked at House. He knew that what House was really saying was that he wouldn't leave again. Wilson smiled. He wasn't alone in his fight and, no matter what happened, he finally knew that he had an ally.

A/N: OK, so my biggest fear is that I'm softening House too far, too fast, so if I am I'd like to know. I do love these two together, though, so I tend to sink my teeth into these scenes... : )


	14. Chapter 14

Things began to return to a more normal state of affairs for Wilson over the next few days. He was, to his immense relief, released from the hospital and allowed to go home, however he spent little time there. More and more often he began to hang out at House's and when he wasn't, he would usually spend the night at Amber's. 

A desire to be in the company of these two people he cared about seemed to be building within Wilson, and he saw no reason to resist it. He didn't know if this desire stemmed from fear, love, or both, but he found he didn't really care. It was wonderful to have some kind of normalcy after the shock of his diagnosis. Wilson never thought he would appreciate House's sense of humor as much as he did, but it became an invaluable part of their time together.

Inevitably, however, reality reasserted itself. One short week after he was released from the hospital Wilson was in Dave Brown's office, one of his best and most trusted fellow oncologists. He was several years older than Wilson, his dark hair sporting only a few grays, and he had sharp, keen, hazel eyes. Brown was competent, knowledgeable, and he and Wilson had had a good working relationship for several years. This meeting, however, was a first for both colleagues.

"How have you been, James?" Brown asked, his voice steady but clearly concerned.

"There hasn't been anything new, no seizures since that first one. I-"

"James," Brown cut across him, looking intently into the other man's eyes, "we have plenty of time to talk about the medicine, and we will. We'll cover everything, I promise."

"But?" Wilson prompted.

"But you're not just another patient. You're not just my department head, you're my friend. I hope you know that."

"Thanks, Dave," Wilson said, smiling. 

"So how have you been dealing with this?"

Wilson sighed.

"As well as can be expected, I guess. It's just, um…someone's about to push me out of the airplane and no one bothered to give me a chute," Wilson said, the bitter smile his friends knew so well creeping onto his face.

"I can imagine," Brown said, nodding, "and I want you to know I'll make myself available anytime if you need it."

"Thanks," Wilson said, nodding.

"Can I give you a friendly warning, James?"

Wilson nodded.

"You're going to want to make your own treatment decisions, I mean it's only natural, you're head of oncology. That's the worst thing you could do. The whole 'physician, heal thyself' thing is not going to work here. I will always take your wishes into account, but I need you to trust me to be your oncologist, OK?"

It was clear to Wilson that his colleague had given a lot of thought to how he was going to proceed. In spite of everything, it comforted Wilson to know that.

"OK," Wilson replied, looking back at Brown.

"All right," Brown replied, nodding, "ready to get into it, then?"

Bracing himself, Wilson nodded.

"The good news is that we found the tumor early," Brown began, his voice clear and professional, "so it's still operable. As you know, though, glioblastoma is extremely aggressive, so there aren't any guarantees I can make."

Wilson scoffed.

"There are never any guarantees," he said.

Brown nodded.

"I know you understand the protocols, but I'd like to go through your options anyway," the older man continued, pulling Wilson's file closer to himself. "We can operate and then do radiation only. The next option is adding chemo to that. Option 3 is we implant the Gliadel wafer during surgery. The last option is chemo and radiation only. The strongest evidence is with the Gliadel wafer, so that's what I think we should do."

"I agree," Wilson said quietly, knowing that Brown had given him the best advice possible. Neither said anything for several long moments, but softly Wilson broke the silence.

"Let's be real for a second here, Dave. Even in the best case scenario I've got two years at most."

Brown shook his head.

"Don't think like that. You have the burden of knowledge, James…you know the survival rates, and based on those you're right. But you're not the doctor this time, I am. Let me worry about the statistics. I need you to take this thing one step at a time."

Wilson sighed.

"I'll try," he said, "but that's not exactly my strong suit."

Brown smiled encouragingly.

"You'll do just fine, James," Brown said. 

"When should we do this?" Wilson asked.

Glancing through his appointment book, Brown found the first opening he had. 

"I'd like to do it as soon as possible. Next week Monday?" 

Even with all his experience as an oncologist Wilson's heart seemed to drop through his abdomen. Six days. It seemed like no time at all. Gathering his composure quickly, though, Wilson nodded.

Nodding back, Brown found Wilson's eyes once again. 

"Get some rest in the next week, James…you're going to need it."

A/N: I just found another RSL gem for those who are interested...it's called "Swing Kids"... RSL...sigh : ) Anyway hope you all enjoy...I think I'll be posting more quickly now, I've been bombarded by inspiration lately...later, all!


	15. Chapter 15

"Shove over," House said, handing Wilson a soda and taking his place next to him on the worn couch. House leaned back with his own beer; for the time being Wilson had decided to forgo alcohol. The two sat in a companionable silence for several long moments, which was only broken by the sound of the glasses on the table and the T.V. in the background.

"So what did Brown have to say?" House finally asked, his eyes still on the TIVO'd episode of the O.C. in front of him.

"The tumor's still operable, and he figures the Gliadel wafer is the best way to go. I agreed."

House nodded.

"Brown's good. So when does this go down?"

"Monday," Wilson answered, setting his feet on the table, one leg crossed over the other.

There was a long pause during which House seemed to be lost in thought, still staring at the T.V. in front of him, but not really seeing it. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet and thoughtful.

"What do you think about staying here?"

Wilson turned his head to look at House. All he saw was the other's profile, as House's eyes were still trained determinedly forward.

"What do you mean?" Wilson asked.

"You're going to be in recovery for weeks, what are you going to do go back to that apartment all by yourself?"

Wilson was startled. In point of fact he hadn't yet considered that. Wilson was surprised, however, that House would make the offer. It showed a foresight Wilson rarely saw in the other man, and in truth Wilson was touched.

"Are you sure about this, House? It's not exactly going to be fun."

At this House finally turned to look at his best friend. Wilson saw the concern in his friend's eyes and knew that he was determined. The diagnostician's reply, however, was as irreverent as ever.

"That's all right. Besides, you get to make me pancakes again."

A/N: I feel like I might have blindsided you guys with some of the medical stuff...all that's important really is that a Gliadel wafer is a disk with chemotherapy drug in it that they implant during the removal of a brain tumor. It's a very effective way to deliver medication in brain cancer cases...anyway later, all! 


	16. Chapter 16

"Hi," Amber said, smiling as she walked into Wilson's apartment.

"Hi," Wilson replied, smiling back and giving her a warm but swift kiss.

"You sounded a little weird on the phone, is everything OK?" Amber asked, the apprehension plain in her voice.

"Yeah," Wilson replied, "I just wanted to talk."

At these words Amber froze.

"The 'we need to talk' thing is never good," Amber said flatly. Wilson sighed.

"Do you want anything to drink?" he asked.

"No, that's OK," Amber said, her voice becoming colder.

"All right, then, let's sit," Wilson said, indicating the couch in his small living room.

The two sat next to each other, Wilson seemingly composing his thoughts for several moments. Before he could say anything, however, Amber's voice broke into the silence.

"Are you breaking up with me, James?"

Wilson turned to look at her, unnerved at how small and scared she seemed. He had always known this woman to be a force of nature, and that's what had attracted him to her in the first place. This was a side of her he had not yet seen.

"I don't want to," he began, "and I certainly hope we're not going to have to say goodbye for good."

"But?" Amber prompted.

"But I'm going in for major brain surgery on Monday," he said, "which means weeks, maybe months of recovery, not to mention whatever follow-up treatment I may need."

"I know, and I want to be here with you for that-", Amber began, but Wilson cut her off.

"No. You don't know what that entails. Amber, I do. I deal with it every day. It's an unimaginable ordeal, physically and mentally, and not just for the patient. It affects the people around them almost as much. This thing is going to drain the life out of me and it's going to take everything I've got to deal with it. Do you think that leaves any room for us?"

"I don't care," Amber said defiantly.

"But I do. It's not fair to you, or to me. I want to give us a real shot and that can't happen while I'm in this limbo of uncertainty."

"You're asking me to just walk away without a fight?" Amber said, her eyes blazing, "I don't think I know how to do that."

Wilson smiled.

"I wouldn't expect anything else," he said, "and I'm not saying we should make a decision right now. I just," he sighed again, "need time to deal with this. Then we can decide if we should give us another try."

Amber still had a trace of defiance in her eyes, but finally she nodded.

"All right, James, I understand. You had better call me, though, because I want to know how you're doing."

"Of course I will," Wilson said reassuringly.

"Good luck, James," Amber said, embracing Wilson tightly. "And get better, would you?" she said into his ear, her voice teasing, "I can't afford to wait around for you forever."

Wilson smiled as the two pulled apart.

"Really?" he said in a scandalized voice, "I've always found you the model of patience."

The two broke into laughter despite themselves. Neither one knew what the future held, but both hoped they would always be able to laugh with each other the way they could now.

A/N: OK, so I'm not really used to writing Amber, and the CTB purists are probably cringing right now...shrugs I just felt like I needed to get this story arc resolved at this point in the storyline and I thought about a few different ways of doing it...I decided an amicable break to their relationship made the most sense...this is another case of 'please let me know what you think'...TTYL, all! : )


	17. Chapter 17

All the schedules had been made, all the doctor-patient conversations carried out. Wilson had also moved his essentials to House's, and House had asked Cuddy for a leave of absence, which she had readily granted. Wilson was, once again, sitting in a hospital room, except this time he was simply waiting.

He was waiting to be brought into surgery and waiting for whatever would come afterwards. Everything was ready, it seemed, except that Wilson still felt completely unprepared. With every passing second his unease and fear was building, and he wanted to simply get the surgery over with. At the same time, however, he was hoping it would never come.

A quiet but firm knock at the door sent Wilson's heart into his throat. Forcing his voice to remain steady Wilson spoke.

"Come in," he said.

House's familiar form made its way into the room. Wilson released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and his head dropped for a moment as a dizzying wave of relief washed over him. House smiled as he watched his best friend.

"Thought I was the Reaper, did you?"

Wilson smiled back.

"So to speak."

"Come on, Wilson, don't you know what Blue Oyster would have to say right now?"

Wilson stared at House, nonplussed.

House leaned on his left leg for a moment, then using his cane as his "guitar", air banded the chords to the song he was pretending to play. He finished with a flourish, looking at Wilson as if expecting applause. When Wilson simply continued staring House looked at him incredulously.

"Don't Fear the Reaper?"

Wilson laughed, applauding House's efforts and cheering like a kid at a rock concert. House gave a theatrical bow, throwing a fist into the air in triumph and bidding farewell to the imaginary crowd.

"Good night, New Jersey, we love you!"

The two men laughed for several more moments, but slowly the gravity of the situation seemed to fall between them. House sat next to Wilson's bed, looking at him closely.

"Are you ready to do this?" he asked quietly.

Wilson nodded slowly.

"As ready as I'll ever be," he said, his brown eyes betraying his fear.

"Brown is good," House said, "he knows what he's doing. And Foreman'll be there, too."

Wilson smiled sardonically.

"I suppose you've already told Foreman he's fired if anything happens to me." Wilson said.

"Of course not," House said, seemingly scandalized, "I told him I'd kill him. Possibly using medieval devices I'd have to special order, I haven't decided."

"Right," Wilson said, the smile slowly fading from his face.

"Nothing is going to happen to you," House said, putting as much confidence into his voice as he could muster.

"Can I freak out anyway?" Wilson said, his voice small and scared.

House nodded.

"Sure," he said simply.

Running his hands through his hair in agitation, Wilson growled in frustration.

"I can't stand this waiting anymore. I just want this to be over with but-"

"You don't want it to be over with, either," House finished.

Wilson nodded.

House was silent for a moment, looking at his friend. Finally he spoke in a very matter-of-fact voice.

"I know this one doctor who can make any patient feel better about what's happening to them. They're even OK with dying when he's the one who tells them."

Wilson stared at House, listening intently.

"I don't know what he would say to you right now, but I know it would be the right thing," House said, looking back into Wilson's eyes.

Wilson was stunned for a moment, caught off-guard by House's candor. His words seemed to steady Wilson and the older man's description of him reminded the younger man of all the time he had spent with his patients. He would simply talk to them, listen, and try to understand what they were going through. The part of Wilson he normally gave to his patients he would need, for the time being, to keep for himself.

"Thanks, House," he said aloud.

Before House could reply the door opened once again and this time it was an orderly making her way into the room with a gurney.

"Ready to go, Dr. Wilson?" the young woman said, smiling reassuringly.

Wilson simply nodded, allowing the orderly to help him onto the gurney.

House walked alongside the gurney as Wilson was wheeled into the surgical ward. Before he was moved beyond the double doors beyond which House was not allowed, House locked eyes with his best friend once again.

"Hey Wilson, just remember one thing," he said.

"What's that?" Wilson asked.

"They can rebuild you, they have the technology," he said, pitching his voice into a robotic monotone.

Wilson smiled.

"They will make me better than I was, stronger, faster, right?"

"You are the bionic man," House finished, smiling back as Wilson finally disappeared beyond the double doors.

House's smile faded as he stared at the doors for several long moments. Slowly he sat on the bench beside him to wait. He began tapping his cane on the floor in a sluggish, erratic rhythm. Waiting was the part he really hated.

A/N: Well I hope I hit the note I was going for, which was simply a feeling of two friends with a long history facing adversity together. It rings true for me, but I don't know if it will for anyone else. Anyway, here's where things are going to start coming to a head...the beginning of the end of the story, so to speak. :)

Don't worry, though, there's still more, but I'm definitely seeing where this is going to end. I'm going to try really hard to get this last section right...well TTYL, all, and thanks for reading! 

P.S. For anyone who doesn't know, "Don't Fear the Reaper" is a classic rock song sung by a band called the Blue Oyster Cult, and the final lines between House and Wilson come from the 70's T.V. show "The Six Million Dollar Man." I fully admit, though, that I'm not totally familiar with either, but I knew enough to put the references in there...apologies to any purists, but these were before my time... :P


	18. Chapter 18

Hours later, House was still sitting on the same bench outside the O.R. Wilson had been wheeled into. He had had the option, of course, to watch the surgery from the observation gallery, but somehow he could not bring himself to. Chase and Cameron had sat with him for a while, but eventually they had to get back to their own patients. Eventually, after what seemed an interminable wait, Foreman finally walked out of the double doors that House was beginning to loathe. Standing, House spoke without preamble.

"How is he?"

"The surgery went just fine," Foreman said, "we think we got the entire tumor and there shouldn't be any long-term effects to his brain function."

House nodded.

"How long will he be in the hospital?"

"Just overnight for observation. It's going to be a hell of a recovery, but there's no need to keep him admitted any longer than that."

"Can I see him?" House asked.

"He'll be asleep for a while, and even when he wakes up he'll be pretty out of it."

House gave Foreman the 'do you think I give a damn' look he knew so well. Foreman sighed.

"Follow me," Foreman said resignedly, leading House to Wilson's room.

House walked into the recovery room behind Foreman. In his long career in medicine Gregory House had seen virtually every kind of disease and suffering imaginable. He had gotten used to seeing patients in recovery a long time ago and it had been years since he had been fazed by anything within the walls of this hospital. His first glimpse of his best friend, however, stopped the diagnostician cold. House slowly made his way to Wilson's side, taking in the numerous I.V.'s, the gauze wrapped around his best friend's head, the painful slowness of the heart monitor's rhythm. House simply took the seat next to the bed as usual, his eyes never leaving the younger man's face.

"You won't be able to stay for very long," Foreman said quietly.

House did not bother to look at the young neurologist.

"I'm not leaving," he said coldly.

"House," Foreman began pleadingly.

"Talk to the head of neurology if you have to, hell I'll talk to him myself," House said flatly, "but I'm not going anywhere."

Foreman sighed, but finally nodded.

"Don't worry about it," Foreman said, "I'll take care of it."

Foreman made his way out of the room then, leaving House by Wilson's side. Foreman could never be sure, but as he closed the door he thought he had heard House's voice.

"Thanks."

A/N: Hope you all like where this is going... :)

I think I have to say one thing, though...I've been sensing some Amber hostility lately and I have to make clear that I don't hate the character, quite the opposite. In the episode "Don't Ever Change", she proved herself to House as someone worthy of Wilson, and thus, IMO, made the relationship a real possibility. It can all be summed up in one line:

"All my life I thought I had to choose between love and respect. I chose respect. With Wilson I know what it's like to have both." - Amber

(Don't get me wrong, though, if she hurts him in the upcoming episodes, that b--h should die!)

:P

TTYL, all!


	19. Chapter 19

Over the next 12 hours House slept in short bursts, afraid of being asleep when Wilson awoke. Several times House thought he saw Wilson stir, but the younger man simply fell back asleep. Nurses came in and out of the room several times to check on Wilson, but House simply ignored them. It was during these brief minutes that House would step out of the room to stretch his legs or grab something to drink. He always returned, however, before the nurse left.

Finally, as House was staring out of the hospital room window at the midmorning light washing over the buildings surrounding Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital he heard the unmistakable sound of hospital sheets moving against each other. Spinning around to face Wilson's hospital bed he saw that Wilson was shifting restlessly, his eyes struggling to open.

"Hey," he said quietly as he reached the bedside, "take it easy."

Slowly the brown eyes opened and House waited until the younger man's eyes found his own. The familiar warmth was still there, but the vibrant energy House knew was dimmed by fatigue, pain or both; House could not tell which.

"House?" Wilson said, his voice soft.

"Yeah," House reassured him, relieved despite himself to hear his friend's voice.

Wilson slowly sat up, House keeping a supporting arm underneath him. For several long moments the two men sat in silence, House watching Wilson carefully while Wilson gradually got his bearings again. House finally spoke, his voice clear but quiet.

"How are you feeling?"

"I don't suppose a truck has recently plowed over my head, has it?" Wilson said, wincing as he closed his eyes briefly.

House smiled, but sobered quickly as he saw the pain Wilson was in.

"I'll call the nurse to adjust your meds," House said, his hand moving towards the phone on the bedside table.

"No," Wilson said, placing his hand over House's, "it's OK."

"Are you sure?" House said.

"Yeah," Wilson said, nodding. As House watched Wilson took a deep breath and let it out slowly, seemingly mastering his pain. Looking around him more carefully, Wilson caught House's gaze.

"What time is it?" he asked curiously.

House glanced at his watch.

"9:15," he said.

"So it's Tuesday," Wilson said, looking at House for confirmation.

House nodded.

Wilson continued to stare at House.

"Have you been here all night?" Wilson asked.

House did not reply, but simply nodded.

Before either man could say anything more Dave Brown walked into the room.

"You're awake," he said, looking at Wilson with an encouraging smile, "how are you doing?"

"As well as can be expected," Wilson said, his voice still small and strained.

Brown flipped through Wilson's chart as he spoke.

"Well, good news is you'll be able to get out of here later this afternoon," Brown said, "and you and I can follow up in a couple of weeks," he finished, looking back at Wilson.

"Thanks, Dave," he said, "I appreciate it," Wilson said, smiling.

"No problem," Brown replied, returning the smile.

"Hey, Dave?" Wilson said as Brown made to leave, "can you do me a favor?"

"Sure," Brown said, turning back to face Wilson.

"Would you just get him out of this room for a little while?" he said, indicating House.

"I'm not leaving-" House began vehemently.

"House," Wilson said, the strain in his voice intensifying, "you've been here all night to make sure I woke up all right. I have. There's nothing more you can do right now and honestly I just need to crash again. Get some food, take a nap, and then you can come back and get me."

House still didn't like the idea, but he could see in Wilson's face that he was simply telling him the truth.

"All right," he said finally, turning to look at Brown.

"You tell me if anything changes," he said, leveling the oncologist with his most piercing gaze.

"Of course," Brown said, looking back into the blue eyes unflinchingly.

Nodding curtly to Brown, House glanced at Wilson once more before leaving.

"I'll be back later," he said to the younger man.

Wilson nodded, letting his eyes fall closed as he heard the door slide shut behind the two other doctors.

A/N: Up next, House and Wilson back at 221B Baker Street...this should be interesting... :P :D


	20. Chapter 20

Wilson had been settled into 221B Baker Street, or as settled as he could be under the circumstances. House had suggested that Wilson use his room while he was there and House would take the couch. Wilson, however, had been adamant that he would not drive House out of his own room. In reality, however, that was not the only reason.

Stretching out on House's worn but comfortable leather couch was familiar. It brought back to his memory the brief time that he had stayed with House after his wife had cheated on him. It was an infuriating time, dealing with House's antics but despite himself, he had had fun. The two, Wilson's protests notwithstanding, lived like a couple of frat guys and in the end it had given Wilson the respite from his failed marriage which House knew he needed. It was the familiar Wilson wanted now, even if it was something as simple as his spot on the couch.

House watched Wilson carefully that first night. As the first few hours passed he saw Wilson's pallor intensify, noticed the unconscious but visible signs of pain and nausea he recognized so well. It was disturbingly similar to what he saw when he looked into the mirror on occasion. The pain House dealt with was the last thing he wanted for his friend to have to go through. Gregory House, however, was not one for wallowing; he was ultimately a man of action. Eventually, House made his way to Wilson's side and spoke quietly but clearly.

"Hey, are you going to be okay if I leave for about half an hour?"

"Sure," Wilson said, nodding, "I'll probably fall asleep," he said, his voice already drowsy.

"All right," House said, nodding, "I'll be back soon."

Wilson heard the familiar sound of House's cane as the older man crossed to his door and left. He did indeed fall asleep soon afterwards, but woke up only an hour later to see House sitting across the room from him. Spread out on the table in front of the older man was all manner of I.V. bags and packages of sterile needles.

"How many times do I have to tell you, House?" Wilson said, turning towards his friend, "the black market for hospital equipment just isn't what it used to be."

"Oh you know me," House replied, grinning, "I strictly push the good stuff; crystal meth and crack only."

"What is all this?" Wilson asked, his eyes scanning the table before him.

"Normal saline," House began, pointing to the various I.V.'s as he named them, "metoclopramide, TPN, and, just in case, morphine."

Wilson shook his head.

"Get rid of the morphine, House."

House stared at Wilson, surprise etched on his face.

"You don't know if you'll need it-" House began.

"I don't care," Wilson said with as much force as he could muster in his weakened state.

House took a deep breath, trying to remain calm and speak rationally.

"You know as well as I do that cancer patients need proper pain control."

"You're right," Wilson replied, "and what that is differs for each person. I can deal with pain for what it is; a measure of how well I am or am not recovering."

"Don't be a hero, damn it-"

"I'm not!" Wilson said with surprising vehemence, "the last thing I am is a hero. I know what I can and can't deal with, House, and I'm just acting on that. I can deal with a certain amount of pain a lot more easily than the idea of you anywhere near an opiate narcotic."

House was blindsided yet again. He could not find anything to say, but Wilson's voice cut through the silence.

"Get rid of it, House."

House shrugged, defeated. Opening the valve on the tubing, he emptied the bag of morphine into the soil of one of his houseplants.

"You may regret that," House said, looking at Wilson.

Wilson shrugged in his turn.

"Maybe, but that's my problem."

House shook his head.

"You can be a stubborn ass sometimes, you know that?" he said, looking into the brown eyes.

Even through the haze of illness those eyes glimmered with humor.

"I learned from the best," he quipped, turning on the couch to close his eyes once more.

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy! I think there'll probably be two or three more chapters left after this... TTYL, all! :)


	21. Chapter 21

As people will in even the hardest situations, House and Wilson formed a kind of routine in the days that followed. House would get out of the apartment early in the morning but return before lunch. Wilson, as was his habit, found himself cooking, even if he wasn't able to eat much these days. House, of course, enjoyed Wilson's food as much as ever.

A strange thing began to happen, however, as the days passed, or maybe not so strange. House and Wilson began to appreciate each other's tastes and preferences in a way they hadn't before. Wilson found himself immersed in House's TIVO'd soaps and dramas; he found himself listening to the Rolling Stones and Eric Clapton and loving them. House, by the same token, found himself picking up Wilson's novels and books of poetry with a newfound and unexpected interest.

It was about a week after Wilson arrived at 221B that he had one of his really bad days. He hadn't kept anything down for more than 12 hours and as a result had one of the I.V.'s House had brought taped to his forearm. House had covered Wilson with one of his comfortable cotton sheets and was simply watching him from the piano bench of his baby grand. He felt quite helpless, but was hoping that his friend would soon fall asleep. Wilson's eyes were indeed drifting closed but House heard his quiet voice from the couch suddenly.

"Are you just going to sit there or are you going to play?" Wilson said sleepily.

"What?" House said, startled.

"Play something," Wilson repeated.

"Are you kidding? You need to sleep," House protested.

"I'll be able to with something to focus on," Wilson said, his eyes still closed.

House could not fathom why Wilson would want anything except silence, but he would nevertheless oblige. Turning on the bench to face the piano he felt the familiar keys underneath his fingers and paused for several long moments, wondering what to play. Suddenly, unconsciously, his fingers began moving over the keys, the familiar chords resounding through the small space.

From the numerous albums of House's Wilson had listened to he recognized the song instantly and his mind simply fell into the melody. There were no words sung, of course, but in Wilson's mind he heard the lyrics perfectly. He allowed the words to envelop him along with the chords of the piano.

_When you're down and troubled  
And you need a helping hand  
And nothing, oh nothing is going right,  
Close your eyes and think of me  
And soon I will be there  
To brighten up even your darkest nights_

_You just call out my name,  
And you know wherever I am  
I'll come running,  
To see you again  
Winter, spring, summer, or fall,  
All you've got to do is call  
And I'll be there, yeah, yeah, yeah  
You've got a friend_

_If the sky above you  
Should turn dark and full of clouds  
And that old north wind should begin to blow  
Keep your head together and call my name out loud  
And soon I will be knocking upon your door  
You just call out my name and you know wherever I am  
I'll come running to see you again  
Winter, spring, summer or fall,  
All you've got to do is call  
And I'll be there, yeah, yeah, yeah_

_Hey, ain't it good to know that you've got a friend?  
When people can be so cold  
They'll hurt you and desert you,  
They'll take your soul if you let them  
Oh, but don't you let them_

_You just call out my name and you know wherever I am  
I'll come running to see you again  
Winter, spring, summer or fall,  
All you've got to do is call,  
And I'll be there, yes I will  
You've got a friend_

As the final chords of the song died away House looked over at his best friend. He had finally fallen asleep, but there was serenity on his face, and the ghost of a smile.

A/N: OK, so this scene has been in my head for weeks now and I just couldn't wait to put it up... :) I hope you all like it...

I have to let you guys in on the inspiration for this. Forgive me for the length of this note...

The show House M.D., as some of you may know, is based structurally on A.C. Doyle's infamous detective Sherlock Holmes (221B Baker Street is Holmes's address, BTW, which is why the writers on the show chose it). I've read most of the stories involving Holmes and when I started this peice I started reading some Holmes again. I came across a wonderful passage in a Holmes novel called "The Sign of Four". In it, Watson (who Wilson is the analog of in House) has been up for a long time helping Holmes with a case. He is exhausted and Holmes recognizes this...

"Look here, Watson; you look regularly done. Lie down there on the sofa and see if I can put you to sleep."

He took up his violin from the corner, and as I stretched myself out he began to play some low, dreamy, melodious air-his own, no doubt, for he had a remarkable gift for improvisation. I have a vague remembrance of his gaunt limbs, his earnest face and the rise and fall of his bow. Then I seemed to be floated peacefully away upon a soft sea of sound until I found myself in dreamland...

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Sign of Four

As I read this the two of them, Holmes and Watson, transformed themselves into House and Wilson in my mind and I knew I'd found something. My mind raced and I remembered that House loved music, of course, and could play the piano. Instantly I had an image in my mind of Wilson after a particularly hard day in his cancer battle asking House to play something on the piano.

I went to my C.D. collection and pored through my Beatles albums. In my mind I agonized over the right song and considered several, including "With a Little Help from my Friends" (Beatles) and "Bridge Over Troubled Waters" (Simon and Garfunkel). All the songs I listened to were wonderful, but they weren't quite right. Finally I remembered this song sung by James Taylor and pulled it up on YouTube. As I listened to the music and lyrics I knew it was perfect. If any of you haven't heard it, listen to it if you get the chance.

Anyway, to give credit where it's due, A.C. Doyle and James Taylor set this scene in motion, I just happened to find them at the right time... :)

Oh, and I won't hold it against anyone who now finds me completely nuts... :P :D


	22. Chapter 22

As the next few days passed Wilson, like virtually every cancer patient, continued to have bad days and better days. Gradually, though, House saw that his color improved and he was able to eat proper food again. Wilson would never know the relief House felt as he realized that his friend was recovering. Wilson, too, was relieved, and he grew more and more anxious for his follow-up with Dave Brown. In the meantime, however, House and Wilson continued to play out their routine and both found the relative normalcy comforting.

Wilson was stretched out on the couch reading as House walked through the door. House was greeted by the intoxicating aroma of his favorite Wilson specialty; pancakes.

As he seated himself across from Wilson, his plate on his lap, House watched his friend's face as he read. The younger man seemed transported; his body was laying on House's couch but his mind was clearly in another place entirely. House turned his head to read the words on the cover of the book in Wilson's hand.

_The Norton Anthology of Poetry_

"You know I've starting reading some of the books you have and some of them aren't bad," House began, "but I never understood you and poetry," he finished, taking a bite of Wilson's pancakes.

Wilson finished the page he was reading and turned to look at House.

"They're a constant," Wilson said simply, "no matter what's going on or how crappy things are sometimes these words are familiar and almost always relevant."

House raised a skeptical eyebrow but simply continued eating. After several long moments, however, he finally spoke.

"Read me one," he said simply.

Wilson was surprised, but he smiled as he sat up to look through the stack of books next to him. Pulling one from the stack he deftly flipped through the pages to choose one of his favorites that he had reread recently. As he read Wilson looked at House, the brown eyes steady upon the blue.

"Come, my friends,

T'is not too late to seek a newer world  
For my purpose holds  
To sail beyond the sunset,

And though we are not now that strength

Which in old days moved earth and heaven

That which we are, we are,  
One equal temper of heroic hearts,  
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will  
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

By the time Wilson finished House was looking back at him intently, seemingly drinking in the words. His plate lay forgotten on his lap and he was silent for several long moments. Eventually, though, he smiled.

"To not yielding," House said, holding up his glass.

Wilson returned the smile. He watched House for several long moments as the older man delved once more into his pancakes. Something struck Wilson at that moment that he had been too preoccupied to perceive before.

"What's changed with you?" Wilson asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?" House asked through a full mouth.

"You've taken care of things, taken care of me, over the past couple of weeks and I haven't heard you complain; about anything. You've been…calm…patient…understanding. It's not like you."

"Thanks," House said with a touch of petulance in his voice.

"You know what I mean," Wilson said, "what's changed?"

"Nothing's changed," House said, "I had to step up, so I did-"

"House," Wilson said, looking at House steadily, "what's changed?"

House looked back at Wilson, his face suddenly betraying himself. Setting his plate down, House leaned back for a moment, seemingly defeated.

"Fine," House said sullenly, "have it your way." Taking a deep breath, House avoided Wilson's eyes as he spoke.

"I've…been back at rehab," he said quietly.

Wilson's eyes widened with surprise. He had been hoping for House to stay in rehab for years and he had basically accepted that it would never happen. To hear the words now seemed too hard to believe.

"Have you really?" Wilson replied, trying to keep the skepticism in his voice to a minimum.

"You don't believe me," House said, smiling sardonically as he looked back at Wilson.

"After everything we've gone through it's just really hard to believe," Wilson said.

"It's okay," House said, still smiling, "the irony of it is just really funny."

"What do you mean?" Wilson asked curiously.

"You're the reason I'm sticking with the rehab and yet you're the one who doesn't believe I am."

Wilson stopped in his mental tracks, looking at House yet again. There was a clarity in the blue eyes Wilson hadn't seen in a long time. As he looked at the older man he tried to find a trace of a lie in the face he knew so well but couldn't find one. Unexpectedly he felt tears sting his eyes and Wilson heard the break in his own voice as he spoke.

"You really are clean?" he said, thunderstruck.

The older man simply nodded.

"But…your leg, how-"

"Physical therapy," House cut across Wilson, "I've actually been going. The pain's still there, obviously, but I'm handling it."

"Wait a second…when did you go back?" Wilson asked curiously.

House took a deep breath.

"The night you got your biopsy results. Do you remember what you said?"

Wilson shook his head, nonplussed.

"You said you couldn't worry about me O.D.'ing and still do what you needed to," House said, "and then you gave me a choice. You asked if I was in or out."

"You said you were in," Wilson said quietly.

"I meant it," House said, "and I knew what that meant. For me. It meant making the rehab thing work this time."

Wilson shook his head, his hands running through his hair in astonishment. As he looked back at House the older man beheld a rare but wonderful sight; the sight of Wilson's smile, the brilliant smile that lit the brown eyes and could soften the hardest heart.

"Why didn't you say something?" Wilson asked, the smile still lingering on his face.

House's eyebrows raised.

"And have you want to play Dr. Supportive Oncologist? If you'll recall you had something of a difficult situation to deal with recently."

Wilson nodded.

"True," he admitted, "I still would like to have known, though."

Silence fell for several long moments before Wilson spoke again.

"I'm proud of you, House," he said quietly.

House looked back at Wilson.

"Ditto," he said seriously.

Wilson smiled again. Gradually, however, he sobered perceptibly. Taking a deep breath he blew it out slowly.

"Well, tomorrow we find out if I'm in Death's datebook," he said, leaning back on the couch.

House grinned.

"Don't worry, I stole it last time he was at the hospital," he said, "that guy does not keep track of his stuff," he said, shaking his head in mock sympathy.

Wilson laughed at the mental image. Grinning, he picked up his book again as House returned to the kitchen for more pancakes. Once more he let the familiar words wash over him.

_That which we are, we are_

_One equal temper of heroic hearts_.

A/N: :) Not too hard to find the D.P.S refrence here, I hope... the poem was the section of Alfred Lord Tennyson's "Ulysses" that RSL read in the film...

TTYL, all! :D


	23. Chapter 23

The next morning found Wilson undergoing a repeat of the blood work and scans he had had done before his surgery. Afterwards he spent a seemingly endless afternoon having lunch with House and looking through some of his patient's files. He never imagined he would miss being back in his own office, focusing on his patient's diagnoses rather than his own, as much as he did. He could not help the anxiety, however, building in the back of his mind as he waited for his meeting with Dave Brown.

Finally, as darkness began to fall outside his window, Wilson made his way to Dave Brown's office. Taking a steadying breath, he knocked.

"Come in," came the voice of his colleague through the door.

As Wilson walked into the office he was surprised to find that House was already sitting in one of the seats in front of Brown's desk. He locked eyes with House for a moment, but took his seat beside him silently.

"So, how have you been feeling, James?" Brown asked.

"Much better lately," he said simply, "except for the suspense," he said, smiling weakly.

Dave Brown returned the smile as he flipped open Wilson's chart.

"All right, I get the point," he said, scanning the test results for several moments before looking back at Wilson. Slowly, Brown's smile widened.

"Your blood work is clear, James, and the scans show a complete resection of the tumor."

Wilson leaned forward, the relief sweeping through him making him dizzy for a moment. He felt House's hand on his arm, steadying him. He looked over at House, and the older man was smiling, the blue eyes steady on the brown. Grinning, Wilson turned to look back at Brown.

"Thanks, Dave, for everything."

The older man's eyebrows raised.

"Hey, my job's not done, James, you know that. You and I are going to have to watch this thing for a long time."

"You're right, Dave, this is not going away." Wilson said, nodding. After several long moments Wilson spoke once more.

"Did you say a long time?" Wilson said quietly.

"A very long time if I have anything to say about it," the other man replied, sincerity on every feature of the other's face.

Wilson blew out a huge breath, but smiled once more.

"I hope you don't take this the wrong way, Dave," Wilson said, standing, "but I'm getting the hell out of here."

Brown laughed.

"I'll see you later, James," he said.

Wilson made his way out of the office, House right behind him. The two looked at each other for a long moment. House was still smiling, and put on his best announcer voice.

"Dr. James Wilson, you've just battled cancer and won. What are you gonna do now?"

"I'm getting a drink," Wilson said, grinning once more, " are you coming?"

"I always knew you were the smart one," House said as the two made their way down the hall.

Life after that basically returned to normal for Wilson. He began talking to Amber again and the two were slowly rebuilding their relationship. More importantly, however, he went back to his practice with a new understanding of what his patients were going through. He was determined to use what he had experienced to become a better doctor. As he was sitting in his office one day finishing a chart House walked in.

"Are we having lunch?" Wilson asked.

"Are you paying?" House asked, his eyebrows raised.

Wilson shook his head in amazement, but was smiling nevertheless.

"Amazing…after everything that's happened you still aren't willing to spring for lunch?"

"My friend there are some things in this crazy world of ours," House said sardonically, "that will never change."

A/N: Well, ladies and gentleman, that's all she wrote for this one... :)

I have to say thank you to everyone who has read this and especially to everyone who reviewed...your kind words have meant more to me than I can say...

I've decided to do something I've never done before...I'm going to take this piece and convert it into a screenplay format for the show House... :)

If you guys want me to post it when I'm done, I will...

Catch you all later, guys! :)


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